


un bel viso

by wae



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: 2tae - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Moon Taeil, Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Model Lee Taeyong, Top Lee Taeyong, Trust Issues, stylist moon taeil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-01-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22213375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wae/pseuds/wae
Summary: Taeil has never been considered a pretty face. Not to himself, and not to anyone else.Especially not to Lee Taeyong.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Moon Taeil
Comments: 22
Kudos: 221





	un bel viso

After four cups of Americanos and three magazine shoots throughout the whole day, Taeyong is just about ready to flop down naked over the very enticing comfort of his duvets. Apparently, the universe must have it in for him, because the moment his body hits the mattress, his phone loudly rings on the bedside table.

Though he really doesn't want to, Taeyong still has the tiniest bit of energy remaining to reach for his phone and answer the call without looking at the caller ID. "What?" comes his very emotionless greeting.

"Taeyong-ah, you still hanging in there?" He instantly recognizes the voice, it's his stylist, one that's been working with him for years. He's a man of professionalism and sophistication, but most of all, he's a veteran at his job, having worked with many other famous personalities aside from Taeyong.

Taeyong sits up, or rather, attempts to sit up. For his stylist to call at this hour, it must be something important. "Oh, Youngjin-hyung. It's you."

"Sorry to bother you at this hour, but I'm just letting you know that I'll be taking a break for a while," Youngjin says. "You see, my girlfriend's due soon and she started having labor pains this evening. I've already notified the agency about it, and they made sure to find a suitable replacement for me right away."

By hearing this news, Taeyong is suddenly much more awake right now. "Wait, really?" he exclaims into his phone. "Congratulations, but, I mean— Who's going to be a better stylist than you? What if they fuck up my whole look? And you know I'm not comfortable with strangers—"

On the other line, Youngjin chuckles. "Oh, you'll see. I think you'll find him to be quite capable. He's an apprentice of mine, if that helps."

It certainly does not help. What Taeyong needs is stability, balance. His career was built around himself being perfectly consistent in everything that he does. Everything has to be flawless, untainted. His routine is supposed to be the key to his success. With this blemish on his otherwise immaculate routine, Taeyong is afraid that this will mess things up for him. And he certainly can't have that, can he?

A lot of thoughts are running through his head, but Taeyong can only reply with: "This sucks."

His stylist laughs the loudest he's ever heard him laugh. "Trust me, it won't be that bad."

"I'll be the judge of that."

With a sense of finality, Youngjin sternly tells him, "You'll be fine, Taeyong. Taeil is one of the best you'll ever work with. See you."

"See you, hyung." Sighing, Taeyong ends the call, left only to wonder about his impending doom. People always say change is good, but to him, it's the one thing he dreads more than anything in this world.

Minutes tick by, but he can't get the ugly fears out of his head no matter how much he distracts himself. The only solution to this, Taeyong thinks, would be to sleep it all away. And so he does.

Deep into his sleep, Taeyong dreams.

Of his own self, running through an endless labyrinth, over and over and over again.

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


Taeyong groggily stumbles into the styling shop at eight in the morning, clutching an iced coffee in one hand. The staff cheerily acknowledges his presence, but it doesn't change the fact that today is the inevitable day that he's supposed to meet his new personal stylist. 

Quickly scanning the shop for an unfamiliar face, Taeyong rakes his eyes in all directions, but he only finds his fellow model, Johnny. He's already seated in front of one of the vanity tables, waving at Taeyong's reflection in the mirror. Taeyong sits down next to him, the disgruntled expression not leaving his face for even a second.

"Yo," Johnny calls out to him, looking far too pleased for his own good. "You're kind of a wreck today."

"I don't really appreciate that comment since I'm in a crisis right here," Taeyong tersely replies.

After taking a sip of his own coffee, Johnny swivels his chair around to face Taeyong. "And the reason for that is..?"

"You know Youngjin-hyung's on like... paternity leave or something, right?"

"Ahh. That, huh." Johnny absolutely does not look the least bit concerned about Taeyong's worries as he steers their conversation in a different direction. "Speaking of which, have you met the new stylist hyung yet?"

"No," Taeyong groans, "and I don't want to meet him because he's the exact reason why I'm pissed—"

Midway into his rant, Taeyong pauses when he sees the scandalized face that Johnny has on. "What? Why are you staring at me like that?"

"Dude," Johnny says under his breath, eyes still wide, "you might wanna turn around."

Despite the interruption, Taeyong turns around anyway, because god only knows what kind of stuff Johnny is seeing behind him. Only, he doesn't expect it at all, because the only thing he spots is a young man leaning against the wall with his arms folded, clad in what he recognizes as designer clothes.

“Frowning so early in the morning?” the man chimes in. “It’s not a good look on you.”

Taeyong's frown only gets deeper upon hearing the comment. Based on the man's face, which in Taeyong's opinion is as average as it can get, he's definitely not a model or a celebrity of any sort. He narrows his eyes on the stranger and asks, “Who the hell are you?”

"Moon Taeil. Starting today, I'll be in charge of you while Youngjin-hyung is away."

"Great," Taeyong deadpans at the same time that Johnny stands up to bow and introduce himself. "I'm Seo Youngho," he says, "we're in your care."

And when Moon Taeil smiles with that harmless, unsuspecting smile of his, Taeyong can't help but wonder how he managed to make it far in this path full of nothing but thorns.

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


"Where the fuck are you?" is what Yuta decides as the perfect opening for his phone call with Taeyong, who is currently speed-walking along the busy streets of Apgujeong Rodeo, in frantic search of his manager’s car who’s supposed to be waiting for him outside his apartment, not halfway across the world,  _ goddamnit. _

"Shut the hell up," Taeyong hissed as he pulled his baseball cap further down his eyes. "I'm on my way."

"You've kept us all waiting," Yuta continued to nag on the other line, "hurry up and haul ass to the studio. There's no time, we'll just do your hair and makeup on set."

So what if Taeyong had too many bottles of Hite at 3 A.M even though he's an absolute lightweight? So what if Taeyong slept through his five consequent alarms this morning? And so what if he'd kept the whole staff and his coworkers waiting? He's in a shitty mood, and he deserves to wallow in self-pity as the world crumbles around him. He's got a full schedule today, which makes his current state even worse.

"Shit," Taeyong curses as he steps on a puddle trying to track the car down the block. He's got all the bad luck today, it seems.

For a second, Yuta mutters something in Japanese, sounding like some sort of vulgar profanity that Taeyong can't decipher even from his countless hours of watching anime. "What did you just say?" he huffs.

"I said, get here safe," Yuta sardonically replies just as Taeyong has finally managed to spot the white auto where his manager is waving at him through the window. 

As soon as Taeyong enters the vehicle, his shoulders sag in relief. He releases an audible sigh. "You know, I've been stressed lately," he tells Yuta now that he's feeling a little less frantic.

"I can see that." is Yuta's empathic agreement to him. "It's the start of the year, it's only natural to be busier around this time. Besides… I think you're still not used to the new environment." Flying in and out of the country, meeting new faces, working from dawn 'til dusk without a proper break, of course, Taeyong would be this exhausted.

He rests his head against the car's side window. Outside, the soft pitter-patter of rain starts and gradually turns into steady strings of precipitation beating down on them. Taeyong's voice is quiet when he says, "I guess this is the price I have to pay for getting more famous."

"Ha!" Yuta dryly exclaims. "I guess it is."

When he gets to his destination, what's left on the window are tiny glass beads trickling down and dissolving into nothing.

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


Taeyong gets to the studio forty-five minutes late, but strangely, no one scolds him or even says a word about it. 

"You're finally here," Yuta acknowledges. He's standing behind Sicheng, adding copious amounts of hairspray to his already matted, dry head. "Go find Doyoung so he can start on your hair and makeup, then get your outfit changed from Taeil-hyung."

Even though nobody's asking for it, Taeyong still knows he owes an apology. "Sorry for being late."

"It's fine." Yuta cracks the tiniest bit of a smile, then shoos him to the backroom where the rest of their coworkers are.

"About damn time," Doyoung grumbles as Taeyong walks in on him arranging his brushes and palettes on the tiny dressing table by the corner. “And don’t say sorry to me or anything like that. Yuta-hyung already told me you were feeling under the weather.”

“Did he, really.” Taeyong chuckles. Doyoung says nothing more, but has the slightest look of concern etched on his features as he applies an assortment of products to Taeyong’s profile.

“There, all done,” Doyoung announces. “Taeil-hyung’s in the dressing room. Make sure you explain yourself ‘cause he’s been worried that you’re late.”

The slightest twitch of an eyebrow. It feels like there are a thousand ants crawling on Taeyong’s skin.

“It’s fine,” he waves Doyoung off. “He doesn’t need to know anything.”

Or, at least, that was the plan, but Moon Taeil keeps trying to make conversation with him despite his obvious hostility. It's also partly Taeyong's fault because he keeps answering no matter what. In his defense, it's unavoidable when he's cornered like this, being dressed in sponsored Balenciaga apparel. From his birthdate to his blood type and his hobbies, Moon Taeil has already pried everything out of Taeyong’s uncooperative mouth.

"So, what got you into modeling?" is the next thing he asks. Taeyong wonders for a bit. There isn’t particularly a deep reason for it. Not one that he can think of right now.

"It pays the bills," he settles on answering.

"You're an interesting guy," Taeil laughs quietly to himself, and it would be fine, except that Taeyong's not really joking.

"And you?" Taeyong huffs as Taeil smooths over the lapels of his Burberry peacoat. His tiny hands still at the planes of Taeyong's chest.

"What about me?" he slowly releases his hands, smiling naively up at Taeyong. 

Their skin comes into contact with each other when Taeil clasps a golden timepiece around Taeyong's wrist. Taeyong sees this as an opening, catching Taeil's forearm in his hand. "Why are you here, standing in front of me right now, Moon Taeil?"

Gently undoing Taeyong's grip on his arm, Taeil's expression grows vacant. "Isn't it obvious?" he uttered. "I'm here to make you shine."

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


It's only his first week on the job, but already, a lot of people seem to think that Moon Taeil is the epitome of beauty, especially Jungwoo, who has taken a liking to him from the start and is ridiculously affectionate that it borders on being inappropriate.

Yes, a lot of people seem to think that Moon Taeil is the epitome of beauty. But not Taeyong.

His thoughts disappear like smoke when Jungwoo speaks. "Why don't you become a model yourself?" he asks one morning while Taeil is doing his makeup, wide grin stretching along his face. "You've got the looks for it."

Taeil chuckles to himself, unconvinced. “Do I, really?”

“It’s true!” Jungwoo insists.

Taeyong rolls his eyes at the conversation. He's sitting on one of the waiting benches, a good distance apart from them, but he can hear every word clearly. They're silent for a while, then Taeil finally decides, "Nah, it's not for me. Too show-offy."

"Excuse me," Jungwoo mock-gasps, "are you saying I'm a narcissist?”

Taeil hums, lining his eyes with more kohl. “Little bit.”

"And besides," he continues, "the world won't give me the chance to, even I want it so badly. I'm just not meant for it."

Taeyong looked over to his peripheral, only to find Taeil already staring back at him. It lasts for a fraction of a second, and then he's turning his attention back to Jungwoo.

"But, what you said before… That sounds so sad," Jungwoo sniffles, wiping fake tears with the back of his hand. 

Taeil laughs a second time. The more Taeyong hears it, the more it drives him crazy. "It's reality. Some people are born as diamonds, and some people are meant to polish them."

Looking up at Taeil with his big, puppy-dog eyes, he whimpered, "Like you and me?"

"Like you and me," comes the affirmation.

The words sound pointed. Rooted deep within the crevices of Moon Taeil's existence. Taeyong scoffed silently. 

_ At least he knows his place. _

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


On billboards, magazines, and runways, Taeyong's presence is compared to that of a god. In real life, he's what most people call an asshole, and for a good reason, too. It's also what Yuta has taken to calling him every time he's being even a little bit cranky.

“Well?” he taunted as he walked up to Taeyong’s booth in the V.I.P area of the club. “Why does South Korea’s most handsome asshole want to get wasted on this fine evening?”

“You’re late,” Taeyong grumbles as he watches Yuta sit himself down on the wine-colored upholstery. The first thing Yuta sets eyes on is the giant bottle of Absolut standing proud in front of them.

“I had other chores to do aside from meeting up with a cheap drunk like you.” Despite himself, Yuta still reaches for the alcohol and pours himself a generous shot. Taeyong frowns, “This is my third glass, you know.”

“Congrats. You want a trophy or something?”

“A trophy wife, sure. A useless chunk of metal they call an award, no.”

Yuta looks him up and down, then shakes his head in disappointment. "Man… You need to get laid."

Taeyong downs the rest of his vodka like it’s water. The way it burns along his esophagus tells a different story. "You're probably right."

Other than the fact that Taeyong knows how to say hello in eight languages, there's nothing much he can say to those foreign girls he meets when he's in a club. He does, however, convey his thoughts in other ways. Such as staring them down with his dark, intense eyes. Running an experienced hand along the bare skin of their thighs. Moving his hips in precise, calculating motions until they scream his name all throughout the evening.

He doesn’t hook up with anybody that night. Taeyong has too much on his mind that even meaningless sex can’t distract him from it. Instead, he throws back shot after shot with Yuta by his side, even as he throws up in one of the back alleys and his friend has to soothe him in the middle of it. 

“Things have to change,” Yuta tells Taeyong later, when he’s sobered up in Yuta’s apartment, lying on his back and staring at the empty ceiling above them. “You can’t go on like this forever. I’m worried about you.”

Taeyong turns to look at him, the way his tired back hunches over himself, and he agrees. 

If only someone could fucking fix him.

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


A long time. It’s been a long time since Taeyong has slept in during the day, and it feels fucking amazing. The sun is shining through his window, giving a sliver of warmth in the freezing temperature of his air-conditioned bedroom. The sheets are fluffy and newly-washed, and he could burrow in them forever if it wasn’t for the obnoxious ringing of his phone next to him.

"TY speaking," he answers on autopilot, albeit in a scratchy, sleep-deprived tone of voice.

"Sorry to cut your beauty sleep short,  _TY_ , but I hope you didn't forget that you have one more appointment this afternoon."

Taeyong thinks he really should adjust his habit of answering calls without figuring out who it’s from first. There’s only one person he knows who speaks so airily like this. "How did you get my number?" he demands, sitting up to stretch.

"Doyoung-ssi was kind enough to share it with me," Taeil informs him.

"That fucking…" Taeyong cusses, but the sentiment gets cut off by a deep yawn from him. "Whatever. This appointment you were talking about, what is it? I thought my schedules were all cleared out for today."

"Off-White catalogue shoot at 4 P.M. Does that ring a bell?"

Taeyong runs a hand through his face, scrolling through his call history with his other hand. He’s neglected his phone up until now because he had been so confident that nothing was going on. Earlier in the day, his manager has indeed left an influx of missed calls and several voicemails. The last message is outright demanding Taeyong to come to the aforementioned appointment. He throws his phone carelessly across the room where it lands with a dull thud on the carpeted floor. How stupid of him to think that he would have even a shred of free time.

“Now it does.”

“Meet me at the venue,” Taeil instructs, “and no being late this time!”

Now, Taeyong wasn't necessarily a forgetful type of person, but he cursed himself for letting such an important appointment slip his mind. All this whirlwind of agendas must be catching up to him lately. He needs a break, and he needs it  _ quick. _

His manager is probably at the studio already, which means he has to drive by himself in this still tired-out state. Taeyong makes the short trip to the apartment complex’s parking lot, frantic and listless both at the same time. The car can't go fast enough, or maybe it’s just that Taeyong’s too wound up and impatient these days. But he figures it's just the way the universe operates when he sees Taeil standing in line at a Starbucks near the studio they're supposed to meet in. He hastily parks the car next to the sidewalk and enters the coffee shop to the chime of bells and the permeating aroma of roasted beans.

Looking at him from behind, Taeil’s frame appears delicate, like he’s being swallowed whole in the oversized leather jacket he’s wearing and gravity is the only thing anchoring him down to the earth. Taeyong imagines wrapping his arms around his waist, and then the thought is gone just as fast as it came.

He strides over to where Taeil is handing his card over to the cashier, and spoke as he sneaked up on him. "I assume you bought one for me too, right?"

There’s not even a hint of surprise in Taeil’s actions when he turns around, holding two Venti containers in a cup holder. "Of course."

"Matcha frappe?" Taeyong eyed the pale green drink, presumably meant for him. Surely, Taeil couldn’t have figured out his preferences by himself. "Who told you?"

"Youngho did." A slight twinkle flickers in Taeil’s eyes for a split second. It’s a different look that Taeyong hasn’t seen before. Not quite his usual vacant expression, nor the high-voltage grin he has sometimes, but something in between.

Taeyong hums, snatching his drink from Taeil’s hand and taking a sip from it. "Figures."

  
  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


The photoshoot finishes without a hitch, mostly because Taeyong bulldozed his way into more than ten outfits and a ridiculous amount of poses in record time. The crew kept giving him compliments, when the only thing he was doing was giving dark, hooded stares to Taeil who was silently monitoring behind the cameras. The recollection of him helping Taeyong get dressed kept flashing through his mind. Up close, his hands had looked even smaller. 

Now that Taeyong thinks about it, they’ve been together the entire day. Though, it feels strange, unfathomable that he isn’t sick of it yet. 

Everyone has something to say about Moon Taeil, one way or another. Amicable, Johnny says. Gullible, Jungwoo says. Emotional, Jaehyun says. Taeyong is in the middle of recalling these testimonies that he wants to prove for himself, for some reason. He tests the waters, wondering if Taeil will take the bait. "It finished earlier than I expected," he comments.

“It did,” Taeil agrees. He falls into the quagmire easier than expected. “Why don’t we get some drinks, then? To pass the time.”

' _ I don't drink, _ ' is what Taeyong should really tell him, instead, he says out of curiosity, or maybe out of something else, "As long as it's your treat." Moon Taeil doesn't need to know that he's a pussy who can't hold his own liquor. All he needs to do is pretend.

"My treat?” Taeil incredulously repeats. “Who has the bigger paycheck here?"

Taeyong shrugs. "You're the hyung."

Pink blooms on Taeil’s bottom lip as he worries it with his teeth. "I guess I am."

“It was a joke,” Taeyong raises an eyebrow. “I’ll take care of the bill.”

“Oh.”

Without thinking, he rests his arm around Taeil’s shoulders. He doesn’t know what he’s doing, but Taeil might. “So, how about it?” 

“Alright.”

Instead of the kinds of drinking establishments that Taeyong is used to, they end up going to a music pub that Taeil frequently visits, which is fortunate for Taeyong. He’s not too into the idea of heavy drinking after that other night with Yuta.

  
  


As expected, it’s all sorts of awkward between him and Taeil, but the live band playing acts as a buffer to their prolonged silences, making their situation a lot more bearable than it is. Other than the short, trivial remarks they throw in here and there, Taeyong and Taeil don’t make much of a conversation. Although, their words of small talk are bound to run out now, replaced with drunken babbles and a dash of recklessness.

“Listen, Taeyong,” Taeil says after his fourth ( _ or fifth? he’s not sure anymore _ ) glass of draft beer, cheeks looking noticeably redder than usual, “I want to get along with you.”

Taeyong almost chokes on his lime and bitters.

Gradually regaining his composure, Taeyong wipes his lips on a napkin, still taken aback even though he’s considerably less drunk than Taeil. “I,” he starts, like a small flame flickering only to be blown out by the wind. Taeyong clears his throat. “I… also want to get along with you.”

When Taeil sighs, it’s more from relief than anything else, but he keeps on fiddling with the hem of his sleeve. “After Youngjin-hyung comes back, I’ve decided to keep working for the agency as a full-time stylist. I realized that this is where I want to be, because of all of you guys.”

“So, you’re going to stay?”

“I am.”

Taeyong suddenly feels guilt welling up inside of him. “I know we haven’t been comfortable with each other like the others,” he blurts out, “and it’s because the prospect of new people throws me off balance but you— you’re a good person, so I want to try—”

Something catches in Taeyong’s throat. Taeil’s eyes are glossy under the dim, overhead lighting. “You think I’m a good person?”

Taeyong nods. “You never complain,” he continues, “you’re always patient to me, and Yuta, Doyoung, Youngho— everyone has gotten really attached to you, they always tell me how cute you are and stuff, but I don’t know how to treat you kindly, and yet you’re still so easy-going about it all.”

A sound escapes Taeil’s lips, so faint that Taeyong doesn’t realize it at first. But then he catches the way Taeil is rubbing at his eyes wearily. The realization hits him like a ton of bricks.

“Are you crying?”

“No, I’m—” Taeil shakes his head, but eventually stands up, his head bowed. “Sorry, I need to get some air,” he says, before rushing outside. 

“Taeil-hyung!” Taeyong follows after him, as if it’s the most natural thing to do, his legs moving of their own accord to chase him to the sidewalk. The air is freezing to the point that one layer of jackets aren’t enough to warm them up.

“Hyung, come on,” Taeyong pulls Taeil to his feet when he sees him crouching on the pavement beneath a flickering lamppost, covering his face with his hands that have turned pink from the cold. Slowly, carefully, like handling a fragile little thing, Taeyong pries Taeil’s hands away from his face. “Don’t,” he says, when Taeil resists. With that single word, he gives in, arms by his sides, tearful expression bared for Taeyong to see.

And just like a hopeless, oblivious fool who doesn’t know what he’s doing, Taeyong brushes a tear from Taeil’s cheek, and thought out loud, "You're pretty when you cry."

“Do you really mean all of that?” Taeil looks up at him, eyes still watery, a slight flush dusting across his cheeks. Before Taeyong can answer, Taeil laughs quietly to himself. “Taeyong-ah, sorry about this. I must be really drunk. It’s probably time for me to head back to my apartment.”

Taeyong nods, feeling unexplainable all of a sudden. He wants to take Taeil into his arms and just hold him there, tell him how much Taeyong appreciates him. “Right, of course,” he says instead. “Do you need a ride, or..?”

Again, Taeil smiles at him, breathing frozen puffs of air when he speaks.“It’s fine, I’ll just catch a cab. You should go home and get some rest too. Be careful when you’re driving.”

Taeyong doesn’t want to go. He really doesn’t. Wanting to stall their farewells for just a little bit, he pretends to think, biting his lip before settling with a question of “I’ll see you on Monday?”

“Yeah. See you on Monday.”

Taeil doesn’t leave immediately after he says goodbye, rather, he lingers, taking tentative steps to leave in search for a taxi, but not without a few fleeting glances at Taeyong’s direction. With a tiny wave, he boards a taxi that has stopped nearby, and Taeyong watches them drive out of sight before getting into his own car.

The drive to Taeyong’s apartment is long and tiring, muddled thoughts swimming in his head all through the while. It doesn’t take much for him to collapse bonelessly onto his bed after taking a quick shower. Outside of his window, the moon glints like a silver knife upon the darkest curtains of shadow. Before sleep takes Taeyong away, the memory of pearly white teeth and crescent-shaped eyes burns itself into the back of his eyelids.

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


Food always tastes better when you’re eating with the people you love. At least, that’s what Yuta tells them when they set out for the Italian bistro nearby. Originally, it had just been Taeyong who invited Taeil, but he figures it’s inevitable when your friends are natural-born eavesdroppers.

"Taeil-hyung," Taeyong ignores Johnny's curious grin as he calls Taeil over with a wave of his hand. "Let's get lunch."

It had been one of those rare days when the agency held a compulsory meeting regarding an important overseas event. Days like these were always a drag, nobody really cared which country they were getting flown to this time, what sorts of people they were going to encounter. It was always the same, rub shoulders with filthy rich socialites and pretend like you care about their luxury brands. Taeyong walked out of the conference room the second their briefing finished, feeling drained already just by thinking about the days to come.

“Lunch, huh? Can’t I go with you two?” Johnny appears from behind Taeyong, slinging a heavy arm around him.

“Of course you can,” Taeil smiles brilliantly at him, then proceeds to get caught up in the tangle of Johnny’s long limbs.

“What’s this I hear about getting lunch?” Doyoung says, following after them. He has Jaehyun and Yuta on tow, who look like they’ve been sneaking micro-naps while the meeting was going on. 

When Taeyong huffs out his displeasure, Yuta’s sleepy expression morphs into an amused little smirk. “Give it up, Lee Taeyong. We’re all going with you.”

Taeyong gives up. It has been a while since they all got together like this, after all. He looks around, their gathering seems incomplete for some reason. “Where have those two brats gone off to?” he asks, craning his head to peer through the conference room’s frosted glass doors.

“Sicheng and Jungwoo are going straight home today,” Doyoung replies, steering Taeyong in the direction of the elevators. “Those poor kids, they’ve been overworked to the bone and now they’re being sent to fucking Paris in a week.”

“Schedules out of the country are fun, though,” Johnny comments as the five of them try to fit themselves into the tiny space of the elevator.

“I’ve never been to France before,” Taeil says, so quietly that you almost can’t hear him. There’s a small smile playing on his face, like he’s a kid trying to hide his excitement over a long-awaited trip.

“Oh, you’ll love it!” Jaehyun, ever the romantic, squeals at him. “Taeyong-hyung’s pretty much a regular in France by now, he’s got all the wildest stories to tell.”

Discreetly assessing Taeil’s expression, Taeyong hurriedly defends himself. “Who are you calling wild? That was a long time ago.”

The elevator dings, drops them off on the ground floor lobby, where Taeyong quickens his walking pace so he won’t have to hear his friends expose him. “Like how this big-shot designer almost became his sugar mommy during last year’s Fashion Week?” He hears Yuta cackling evilly a couple of steps behind him. He thinks he even catches Taeil’s voice laughing along to Yuta’s exaggerated recounting of that incident that Taeyong would very much like to forget.

“Alright, you punks,” he calls after them, “make fun of me all you want, but can we at least get some food first?”

And, Johnny, always finding the opportune moments to mess around, dashes ahead with his meter-long legs, but not before shouting, “Last one to the Italian place pays the bill!” 

Like a pack of teenagers that have just gotten fresh out of school, they run wild along the streets. Taeyong laughs freely. He had forgotten about this feeling of being unrestrained, but at this moment, he remembers how young he is, even if it only lasts for a minute.

  
  
  


✴

  
  


_Minestrone, vermicelli, acqua pazza, cacciatore, bistecca alla fiorentina._ One by one, their dishes are placed on the maple wood table, until it overflows like a fountain. Around the sixth embarrassing story about Taeyong that Yuta narrates, the food gradually disappears off the plates and into their stomachs. Unfortunately for Doyoung, he pulls out the golden credit card that he’s labeled as his own pride and joy, and uses it to pay for everyone’s food.

“Alright,” Johnny clears his throat once everyone is satiated, “you gentlemen have any plans to do in France? After we get over that Chanel soirée, of course.”

“Bar crawling,” Yuta answers immediately.

“Rejected.”

“Strip club? I hear Pigalle has quite the variety.” he tries again.

“Hey, let’s keep it PG here.” Johnny crosses his arms.

Leaning across the table so he can see better, Doyoung points at Taeyong with a bony finger. “I think Taeyong-hyung should show Taeil-hyung around Paris.”

“Good idea,” Jaehyun chuckles, “that way, he’ll keep out of trouble for once.”

There’s a lot of things to do, a lot of places to go to in Paris. The Eiffel Tower, The Louvre, shopping on the Champs-Elysées, Michelin-starred dining. Taeyong has already experienced all the finer things it has to offer, but nothing quite beats sharing the moment with somebody who actually wants to be there with you. As discreetly as possible, Taeyong pulls Taeil away from the rest of the discussion. “Do you want to go around the city with me?” he asks, tentatively.

Eyes softening as he smiles, Taeil places a hand atop Taeyong’s. His skin is warm. Taeyong has barely registered the temperature of it in his mind when it’s gone all too soon. “I’d like that very much.”

Taeyong hides his grin behind the sleeve of his cashmere cardigan. “It’s a promise, then." 

  
  


✴

  
  


Some days later, they’re crowded in the waiting room of some studio in downtown Gangnam for a PR pictorial. It's certainly not the best venue, but regardless of that, it's where Taeyong stumbles upon a great revelation in his present life.

"Taeyong's been weird," Yuta loudly whispers to everyone in the room. Sicheng barely spares Taeyong a glance before minding his own business, but Doyoung and Jaehyun immediately jump on the wagon.

"He's been gentle nowadays." An offhand comment from Jaehyun which Doyoung follows up with, "Maybe Taeil-hyung has rubbed off on him?"

Even if Doyoung has a piping hot curling iron in his hand, Jaehyun still leans back dangerously close to him as he laughs his heart out at the statement. "Do you mean it in a literal or figurative sense?" he asks.

" _ Rubbed off on him? _ " Sicheng briefly looks up from his phone. "What does that mean?"

"There, there," Yuta pats his arm in consolation. "You don't need to know about those kinds of naughty Korean phrases."

Somewhat miraculously, Taeyong doesn't feel a migraine forming from their usual provocations, perhaps because what they've said is actually true. With how calm he is right now, he’s practically Buddha. And perhaps Taeyong's been a little bit crazy lately, because he announces to them, "Yeah. I actually like Taeil-hyung a lot."

Everybody gasps.

At the worst moment possible, Johnny storms in, with his too-big sunglasses and his horrible timing. "Good morning, y'all!"

Nobody says a thing. Perplexed, Johnny stands in the center of the shop, smile faltering. "Did I miss something?"

"Hyung," Jaehyun groans. "You just missed the confession of a lifetime."

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  
  


After days of convincing his friends that he  _didn't mean it that way,_ Taeyong's realizing that maybe his little outburst in the shop wasn't the best idea ever. Taeil had arrived shortly after Johnny finished processing his shocking bit of information. It had been awkward around them then, and it still is now.

Honestly, this wasn’t the outcome Taeyong wanted since they boarded the business-class plane to Paris. In a semblance of some sick, practical joke, Doyoung takes the seat next to Taeil, basically cornering him on the window side of the plane. Johnny sits with Jaehyun, Yuta is with Sicheng as usual, which means Taeyong is stuck being seatmates with Jungwoo, of all people.

While Taeil isn’t looking, Doyoung sticks his tongue out childishly to Taeyong, which the latter reciprocated by giving him the middle finger. 

"Are you serious, hyung?" Jungwoo sputtered just as soon as they take off.

"What?" Taeyong frowns at him.

"You still haven't talked to Taeil-hyung yet?!"

"You little brat— where did you hear that from?" He contemplates begging his manager to change seats with him, but he supposes that would make him look more of a coward, so Taeyong endures the interrogation from Jungwoo anyway.

"It's a hot topic amongst us," Jungwoo nods sagely. The facade drops when Taeyong pinches his cheek as hard as he can. "Ow, ow, ow! I give! Doyoung-hyung was blabbing about it to us the other day!"

Taeyong drops his hand from Jungwoo's marshmallowy cheek. "I will talk to him eventually, of course," he says, exasperated. "Things are just confusing right now, but I want to make it right."

"As expected of our Yongie-hyung," Jungwoo coos at him, making Taeyong roll his eyes.

"Can I get some sleep now?" he asks playfully, halfway through putting on an eye mask. "I really need it, you know, for when I tell Taeil-hyung about everything."

"Of course, of course," Jungwoo says, still brimming with energy as he pats Taeyong on the clavicle. "You need all the strength you can get."

The last thing he hears before drifting off to sleep is Jungwoo's voice, saying, "Night-night, hyung. Don't worry, things will work out soon."

And, God, he really wishes it would come true.

  
  


✴

  
  


Afternoon rolls around and they hardly even get a reprieve before being packed into a tour bus and heading to The Marais, the trendiest neighborhood in all of Paris. In favor of appreciating the view, Taeyong instead has to shed his skin, a serpent trading style over comfort, haute couture wardrobes over the sloppy Adidas sweatpants and too-large T-shirts.

They're the only ones in the Chanel showroom, getting ready for the brand's dinner party, and Taeyong's been unable to look Taeil in the eyes ever since.

"So…" Taeil mumbled as he carefully combs back Taeyong's hair from his forehead. "Do you have something to tell me?"

Taeyong whips around so fast in his seat that Taeil recoils. "How did you know?" he questions. "Did the guys tell you?"

"...No? But I figured something was wrong because it looks like you've been avoiding me."

Technically, Taeyong hasn't been avoiding the person himself, he's simply avoiding being alone with him, which is a different matter altogether, but here they are, completely isolated in a room with four corners.

“Was it something I did? If so, then I’m—”

“No,” Taeyong cuts him off before he can apologize. He doesn't want Taeil to apologize. He's done nothing wrong. “It’s me. I’m sorry I’ve been acting weird. I just need to figure out some things now.” 

"Okay," Taeil says plainly. Acceptingly. Taeyong releases the breath that he'd been holding in. That was easier than he expected.

"Let's enjoy Paris in the meantime," he offered. "I did promise that I'd tour you around the city, right? 

With a nod, Taeil agreed. His fingers are a bit hesitant when he fixes a rhinestone brooch to Taeyong's blazer. "Alright, just… I'm always here if you need to talk about anything."

"Thank you," Taeyong murmurs, yearning to take Taeil's hands in between his. "Really."

Later on, Yuta drags him away from the group of upper-class figures he's been entertaining for the past half hour, whispering mischievously in his ear. 

"Made up with him already?"

The corner of Taeyong's lips curl upwards. "We never even fought to begin with."

"Fair point," Yuta acquiesces, raising his champagne flute in a toast. "Perhaps the one you've been fighting with was yourself, all along."

That makes Taeyong laugh, no matter how ridiculously philosophical it may seem. Yuta has always been profound with his choice of words.

"Do you think I'll win?"

"You always do."

  
  


✴

  
  


It’s really no surprise when Taeyong ends up sharing a room with Taeil in the five-star hotel they’ve booked. Really no surprise. That’s what he keeps telling himself, but Taeyong can’t quell the way his heart is beating so fast like it wants to hammer out of his chest. He promptly ignores Jaehyun and Johnny wiggling their fingers at him and making kissy faces behind him. For their benefit, Doyoung and Sicheng stay quiet at the sidelines, but still have shit-eating grins all over their faces. Taeil merely chuckles at their antics. At least one of them has a good laugh about this. Taeyong is so fucking nervous that he wants to crawl out of his own skin.

“Well,” Yuta shoots him a knowing look, hands on his hips, “take it easy, you guys. Let’s meet each other for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

Jungwoo offers Taeyong a half-assed  _ ‘fighting!’  _ with a matching fist pump to go with it all. 

“See you tomorrow,” Taeil cheerily tells them, pulling a disgruntled Taeyong along by the wrist.

“Behave yourselves!” Taeyong shouts at them one last time, his friends definitely need the discipline anyway.

Doyoung shouts back a _ ‘yes, mom!’  _ before Taeyong shuts the door and silence takes over like a storm, at last.

Their suite is enormous, fully-furnished and with more than enough space for two people. In the center, a king-sized bed rests. Hesitantly, Taeyong sits down on one side of it. Taeil does the same, restlessly fiddling with the fabric of his cable-knit sweater. It’s killing Taeyong to see him like this. He’s got to stop being selfish for the better.

“Hyung,” he starts, testing the waters. Taeil slightly turns his head to look at him. Expecting? Hopeful? Taeyong’s not sure, but that’s the impression he gets from his eyes. Might as well do it sooner than later. If Taeyong doesn’t get this off his chest now, then he probably never will. “Do you mind hearing me out for a bit?”

“I don’t mind,” Taeil says, even as his eyebrows crease in concern. He looks more worn out than ever. Taeyong has to make it up to him tomorrow when they tour around the city together.

A shaky exhalation of breath. Taeyong picks at his nails, an old habit he hasn’t quite managed to shake off even in his adulthood. “Have you… have you ever felt like an empty husk of your former self sometimes?”

“I guess I have.” In an empathetic gesture, Taeil wraps his fingers around Taeyong’s knuckles. Like this, he can’t do anything with his hands, and he’d like to think Taeil is doing it to help him control his nervous tendencies. “But it must be even worse for you, isn’t it?”

Taeyong nods. It is worse. "Outside of this job, it just… feels like I’m nothing. Like I’m chained and held back. I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in the past and it's not the easiest thing to own up to those and better myself. Sometimes I begin to doubt myself and think, what if I end up getting too close to someone and then hurt them in the process?"

This time, Taeyong only has himself to blame for being too honest and overly emotional. He has no reason to blame this on alcohol, the complimentary bottle of Pinot Noir left on their suite's table has remained untouched.

"I'm scared," Taeyong admits. "Who do I trust anymore?"

Taeil bites his lip. And then the words tumble out of his mouth. "You have Yuta. You have Doyoung and Youngho and Jaehyun. Sicheng, Jungwoo. Everyone around you cares for you and thinks you’re very important to them. You’re surrounded by a lot of kind-hearted people, Taeyong-ah. You’re lucky to have all of that."

"And what about you?"

"You have me too."

Taeyong feels relieved. Like a slate that has been wiped clean. A tear that has been sewn shut. A puzzle with all the pieces aligned in the right places.

“Sleep,” Taeil tells him, “in the morning, I’ll be here, and in the morning, everything will be okay.” 

That night, Taeyong falls asleep in Taeil’s arms. His hand is warm and comforting as he runs it through Taeyong's hair, and he does it like no one ever has before.

Taeyong feels like a brand new man when the morning after comes. He takes Taeil to see the real Paris, bringing him to his personal favorite spots instead of the same, manufactured tourist attractions where never-ending crowds gather to waste time. 

Roadside cafés here, some window-shopping at the boutiques there, soaking up sunlight and breathing in air that feels like it's from another world. Somewhere along their stroll, they get crepes, chocolate and strawberries, trading bites as they walk along the streets of Canal Saint-Martin. At that exact moment, it feels like the universe was made solely for the two of them.

Beside him, Taeil is glowing brilliantly, and Taeyong wonders why he hasn't noticed it earlier.

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


A model's life is as hectic as always. Upon returning to Korea, Taeyong's schedules keep flowing in, both a blessing and a curse when he thinks about it. The distance between him and Taeil seems to shrink with each passing day, but for someone like Taeyong who constantly has eyes on himself, there aren't many opportunities to be making passes at his coworker.

In retrospect, he should have done it sooner, but confessing is a difficult task when you're a spineless bastard like him. (Yuta once gave him that title when they went to a horror house in Everland. Taeyong acknowledged it as a truth, but he doesn't appreciate it.)

"Have you gone mad?!" Yuta squawked at him when Taeyong popped the question during an early morning coffee run. "Is the world finally ending? Why the hell is Lee Taeyong asking me what's the best way to tell someone you love them?!"

Taeyong shrinks in his seat, wary of the other customers' offended stares at them. "Pipe down!" he hushed. "Who else am I supposed to ask? Doyoung?!"

"Not Doyoung," Yuta shook his head. At least that's one thing they agree on. "Youngho's had a lot of girlfriends before, how about him? Or Jaehyun? He was born on Valentine's after all."

"Stop being so absurd," Taeyong groaned. "I'm asking you because you're my best friend, god damn it. You're the only one who can help me figure this out. You're wise. You don't tattle like Doyoung does. And you're the only one who understands this situation the most."

Leaning back in his seat, Yuta took a deep breath and released. "What situation is this, exactly? A lot goes on in your life, Taeyong."

"The situation," Taeyong emphasizes every syllable, like it's a child he's talking to, "is that I'm in love with Taeil-hyung."

"So, the day has finally arrived, huh? I used to think you'd never be this head-over-heels for somebody in a million years." Yuta takes a long drink from his cup of Americano. He looks like he holds the answers to all the secrets of the universe. Knowing him, Taeyong thinks he probably does. "Isn't it enough just to tell him honestly how you feel? Ever heard of the Japanese proverb,  _ we're all fools whether we dance or not, so we might as well dance _ ?"

"What?"

"It means," Yuta explains, "you're better off taking chances than just sitting by and doing nothing. So, what exactly are you waiting for, Lee Taeyong? Don't waste your time. Don't think too much. All you have to do is say it."

Several minutes pass. They finish their coffee in silence. Yuta stands up once his cup is empty.

"Sicheng has a pictorial coming up soon, I need to help him get ready," he says, squeezing Taeyong's shoulder. 

"It's all up to you now."

Taeyong is left alone in the coffee shop. He realizes that he hasn't been by himself much recently. Wherever he went, his friends were always there. He may have taken their company for granted before, but now that it crosses his mind, the impact becomes heavier to bear.

Isolation tastes bitter on his tongue.

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


Having made up his mind from his earlier pep talk with Yuta, Taeyong asks Taeil to take a walk with him along Myeongdong after their schedule for the day is done.

Lack of confidence was never an issue for Taeyong, but he's been told often that he has a tendency to go overboard. With that being said, he has no idea how to start this off. Taeil is walking at a leisurely pace beside him, completely oblivious to Taeyong's inner dilemma.

_ Don't think too much. All you have to do is say it. _

"Taeyong? Why'd you stop all of a sudden?"

With his eyebrows knitted together in anxiety, Taeyong turns around to face Taeil.

"I'm in love with you."

Time stills. Taeil freezes in his steps. Taeyong holds his breath.

A couple hundred centuries seem to pass before the flow of events resume.

"You like me," Taeil says, as if the whole idea is incredulous to him. 

Maybe if Taeyong spoke with more certainty, then he could convince them both that this circumstance is not as strange as they make it out to be.

"Yes. I do. I fucking like you a lot."

"But—" Taeil interrupts himself, lost. He leans back onto the brick wall behind him to ground himself to reality, perhaps. "Why?"

"Do you remember what I said that night that we went out for drinks? I told you that you're a good person, but there's so much more that makes me drawn to you. I can't help it, hyung. I really can't." Taeyong hangs his head low, afraid that if he even does so much as stare at Taeil, then he'll scare him off. But he doesn't budge, not one bit.

"Is this…" Taeil wipes at the corners of his eyes. They're red and swollen. "When you said you needed to figure out some things, is this what you meant?"

"It is."

Coincidentally, Taeyong’s face appears on one of the giant LED screens affixed to the building in front of them. It doesn’t come as a shock anymore that his likeness is plastered everywhere they go, considering his recent increase in popularity. Taeil stares at this Taeyong, who’s posing for a men’s perfume brand, airbrushed to perfection. Somehow, Taeil hates it when he can't discern a single flaw.

The real Taeyong stares back at him. Taeil sighs. 

"Taeyong… You’re one of the top models in the country, and I’m just—"

“Hyung,” Taeyong is almost begging, desperate. “Please don’t think of us in that way. That’s the one thing I don’t want you to do.”

Taeil says nothing. The lines of his face are set in a frown, contemplative.

“I’m not in front of a camera or anything right now,” Taeyong tries to reason with him, “I’m just an ordinary guy.”

In a fit of exhaustion, Taeil slumps down to the ground. “You don't understand how overwhelmed I am. This is too much. Do I— Do I really deserve this?"

Taeyong takes Taeil's hands in his, just like he has done back then on the sidewalk outside of the pub. Only this time, they're very much sober. 

There's a sharp stinging in Taeyong's chest. 

"I've never wanted anything more than you."

Taeil screws his eyes shut, looking as if it physically pains him to make a decision. "Can I really wish for something, just this once?"

"It's fine," Taeyong assures him. He's taken the same stooped position as Taeil on the pavement. "There's nothing wrong with it. Please tell me what you want. Get greedy. I'll accept all of it."

After enduring it for so long, Taeil ultimately bursts inro tears.

"I want to be yours."

Suddenly, Taeyong feels like a child all over again. Selfish. Rebellious.

_ Possessive. _

He rests his forehead on Taeil's shoulder, where it feels like he belongs. He murmurs, "Then be mine, Taeil-hyung."

And Taeil whispers, in that soft, feathery voice of his, "Okay." 

They're in the busiest district in Seoul, everything around them in fast forward while they're the only ones in slow motion. The sun is high up, several waves of strangers pass them by each second, and Taeyong could be recognized in any moment, but still, he closes the gap between him and Taeil, until there's nothing but heat seeping from their lips.

Everything falls into place.

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


By now, he's beginning to think Taeil must have been created with only the most luxurious materials known to mankind.

His scent, like lavenders. His taste, like vanilla. His skin, like crushed velvet.

The sound of his voice when Taeyong touches him, like a symphony of angels descending upon the earth.

Usually, the twenty-minute commute to Taeyong's apartment would be trivial, but today, it lasts for an eternity. They sneak little brushes of each other's fingers at the back of the cab, but the instant that Taeyong locks his apartment door, they're all over each other like untamed beasts.

They kiss hungrily at the entryway, all teeth and tongue and eager lips meeting. Taeyong undresses Taeil in the living room, stripping him of his turtleneck sweater and corduroy pants to reveal smooth, sweet, honey skin. In the bedroom, he bites bruising marks along his hips and the supple flesh of his thighs.

"Hyung," he tells him, with as much adoration as he can muster, "you're beautiful, so beautiful."

"I," Taeil gasps when hot flicks of Taeyong's tongue press against his chest, "don't need to be told twice."

"No," Taeyong stubbornly insists. His fingers are even hotter than his tongue as he slides them in between Taeil's legs. "I'll keep on repeating it. I'll say it no matter how many times you want me to. I'll tell you just how beautiful you are until you believe it."

Taeil whines, unable to say anything more. 

Soon enough, his whines become cries of pleasure. One finger turns into two, then three. Taeyong’s stroking himself with impatient flicks of his wrist, teeth gritted. Taeil takes pity on him, replacing Taeyong’s hand with his own so he can fuck into the heat of his fist.

Taeyong crooks his fingers inside Taeil, and he keens, hips arching upwards, chasing the sensation. “Please,” he says, desperate as if they can’t get enough of each other. As if oxygen was a scarcity and the only alternative to breathing is licking into each other’s mouths.

“Can I?” The words come out needy from Taeyong’s lips, but Taeil isn’t any better than him because he nods eagerly, eyes blurry and unfocused as he pleads, “Hurry up, Taeyong, please. I need you.”

The first press in is tight, but Taeyong distracts Taeil with precise strokes along his cock. Gradually, his pliant flesh gives way for Taeyong, and they both shudder at the feeling of being so connected. Nails drag down Taeyong’s back. He doesn’t mind. Each thrust draws out a euphony of moans from Taeil, bringing him closer and closer to the edge. 

Taeyong feels like a scorching flame around him. His voice is broken. “Wait, I don’t wanna— not yet—” 

“Fuck,” Taeyong curses as he pulls out. “Come here, hyung. Get on top of me.”

He reverses their positions so that Taeil is straddling Taeyong’s stomach, heaving up and down from the intensity. Taeil takes him in again, biting his knuckles to keep him from sobbing out loud at the friction, the stretch. His knees are jelly. Taeyong holds him by the waist as he tries to catch the peak of ecstasy. His grip is so strong that he might leave red imprints on his skin.

“I’m so close,” Taeil throws his head back, whimpering. Everything is too much, and yet somehow, not enough. He closes in around Taeyong when he angles his hips just right, grinding against him so hard that it feels like they’re igniting.

“I’m right there with you,” Taeyong manages to say in between rough grunts and harsh thrusts. 

Taeil squeezes his eyes shut. Tears threaten to spill out when he does. He can’t take it. Any moment now and he’s going to lose it. His own lower body is moving uncontrollably. Reaching forward, he bites down on Taeyong’s collarbone to muffle his noises. In turn, Taeyong grabs hold of his ass, the muscle yielding to his touch.  _ Faster.  _ Taeyong pulls Taeil towards him to match his momentum. It builds up, then explodes like a bundle of pyrotechnics going off at once. 

“Come on,” he growls. “Come for me, Taeil-hyung.”

Taeil moans high and breathy in his throat as he comes, and Taeyong thinks it's worth having his silken bedspreads ruined if it means he gets to hear that sound.

Catching his breath, Taeil detaches himself from Taeyong. “Let me," he says upon seeing how hard he is still. He wraps his lips around Taeyong’s cock, finishing him off quickly. Taeyong pulls on his hair when he feels Taeil hollow his cheeks around his length, climaxing with a loud groan.

"Okay?" Taeil asks him when they’re done, resting his head against Taeyong’s chest.

Taeyong smiles at him fondly. "More than okay."

Spent but satisfied, they collapse in a heap on top of each other, turbulent heartbeats in sync.

A few hours later, Taeyong wakes, hunger taking over his desire to sleep. He only remembers then that his fridge is stocked with nothing that could be used to make a decent dish. Next, he cleans up the messes they've made, on the floor, the covers, even on Taeil's body, and tidies up his own appearance to head for the supermarket.

Taeyong smiles at the thought of Taeil waking up to a freshly-cooked meal made by him. His previously lonely, barren apartment now feels like home.

He takes a second to admire Taeil who's peacefully slumbering on his bed. Fluffy brown hair splayed across white pillows. A slender form. Gentle features reminiscent of cherubims. If Taeil was an artwork, he'd be comparable to Michaelangelo's painting on the Sistine Chapel's ceiling.

"I'll be back," he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss to his forehead. "Get some rest, angel."

  
  
  


✴

  
  
  


In Taeyong’s twenty-four years of existence, he has seen a lot of picturesque spectacles, but the sight that beholds him when he returns to his apartment is by far the most majestic of them all.

Taeil is peering at him through the veranda’s steel railings, giving off the illusion of a caged bird. It knocks the breath out of his lungs.

Wasting no time, he races up to his unit, stumbling over his own feet to come face-to-face with Taeil. 

“Hey, handsome.”

Taeil is sprawled out on a lounge chair by the balcony, in one of Taeyong’s white button-up shirts and his boxers. Remnants of makeup from yesterday cling to his face, lipstick drying against chapped lips and mascara hanging off his eyelashes. The column of his throat is bared to the crisp autumn air as he exhales smoke from the cigarette in between his teeth. Red hot embers fall off down the streets of Apgujeong and dissolve into ashes that are lost into the cold concrete. An almost-empty carton of Marlboro Ice lies near his feet. It's the pack Taeyong has burnt through trying to shake the last month's stress off. Guess he won't be needing it anymore, now that he has something better than nicotine.

"Hey yourself, cutie," Taeyong greets back, making Taeil erupt into tiny bouts of soft laughter. “Were you waiting for me?”

“I was. For a long time.”

"It's cold out here," he says, holding out his hand.

Taeil takes it, stands up and clings to Taeyong for warmth. "And now it’s not.”

Laughing in pure, unabashed happiness, Taeyong kisses the top of his hair. “Let me fix up some quick dinner for us to make you even warmer.”

“I’d love that.”

They make their way to the kitchen, hands intertwined. It’s new and unfamiliar but Taeyong thinks he might get used to this. A grin creeps up his face as he picks up from Taeil’s previous statement. “And? What else do you love?”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” Playfully, Taeil pretends to think about it for a while, tapping his chin for effect. “Maybe… you?”

“Is that so?” Taeyong leans down so that they’re at eye-level with each other. He takes in every little detail of Taeil’s features. The gleam of his eyes. His lush, slightly chapped lips. Freckles and scars and beauty marks dotting his skin. Without a doubt, he’s beautiful, inside and out, from head to toe.

“Because it turns out that I love you too, Moon Taeil.”

Now that there’s nothing holding them back, Taeyong finds it impossible to stop kissing Taeil again and again.

  
  


✴

  
  
  


"Remind me one more time why we're doing this?" Doyoung grimaces as he takes yet another full shot of Grey Goose. They’re in Johnny’s private penthouse back in Chicago, where Doyoung is currently losing spectacularly in their game of King’s Cup.

Yuta waves his Jack of Diamonds card for them to see. He’s more than a little tipsy. Everyone in the room collectively groans and takes a shot. "It's called a celebration, you dumbass. Are you really questioning why we're partying it up when Yong and Ilie-hyung just got together?"

“I was talking about the game, shit-for-brains! I know why we're here!"

"Save your breath, sore loser." Johnny cackles when he draws a Two of Hearts, sliding two shot glasses across the table to Doyoung.

On the contrary, Doyoung is giving the glasses of alcohol his most intense death glare. "If I wake up with a fucking hangover tomorrow, I swear to god—"

Next to him, Jungwoo tugs mischievously at his arm. "Come on, hyung, loosen up a little. We're on paid holiday, aren't we?"

"That, we are." Sicheng nods in agreement. That convinces Doyoung to throw back his drinks consequently. The group applauds him for his bravery.

Holding the gigantic bottle of vodka in his hands, Johnny screams at the top of his lungs. "Drink up, boys! The night is young!"

"I think this calls for a proper toast," Yuta calls for their attention. "To Taeyong and Taeil-hyung!"

The group shouts their cheers and some amalgamation of their names, raising their glasses high up in the air. Except for Sicheng, that is, who says "Congratulations on your marriage!" 

Sitting in the center of the commotion, Taeyong and Taeil bask in the splendor of it all. They hook arms and do a love shot upon the insistence of their friends. Like a bunch of excited seals, they clap and whoop noisily. Good thing Johnny’s penthouse is relatively further away from other residences, or they would have gotten several noise complaints by now.

At any rate, the celebration goes on. Drinks are passed around, stories are shared, a certain someone (Yuta) tries to make out with an unwilling individual (Sicheng). As a result, Jungwoo gets an idea from that and attempts to kiss everyone on the cheek. Taeil, surprisingly, has quite the unexpected taste in music because he blasts track after track of electronic dance music from his phone. And Johnny, unsurprisingly, tries to breakdance on the living room floor. Somewhere down the line, it escalates into a freestyle dance battle and Taeyong is dragged into it. Wherever you look, it’s just— pure chaos. And of course, Doyoung has it all saved as a video on his phone.

In due time, the tension of their celebration subsides, leaving them to their own devices. Rowdy jokes are replaced with muted discussions. Wall sconces now paint the living room in mellow hues instead of the chandelier’s harsh glow. 

Jungwoo and Sicheng are passed out on Johnny’s faux fur rug, cuddling each other in their sleep. Johnny and Jaehyun are seated in front of the grand piano, talking amongst themselves and occasionally messing with the keys. Yuta and Doyoung are off to the side, competing in a round of billiards.

Although Taeyong’s sure he’ll be the one to clean up the place once they’re all asleep, he wouldn’t have it any other way. His friends are all here and they’ve had a great day. That’s the only thing that matters.

He shuffles to the front yard, where Taeil is seated by the poolside, splashing his feet in the crystal blue water. Taeyong takes the spot beside him, also submerging his legs in the pool. It’s warm, unlike what he was expecting. “I’m tired,” he pouts, leaning against Taeil’s bathrobe-clad shoulder. “We had too much fun today.”

“Too much fun is right,” Taeil sighs contentedly. “I haven’t stayed up this late in a while.”

A sleepy hum escapes Taeyong. “We might have to go to bed soon, though. I heard Doyoung plotting some kind of punishment game back there for the ones who wake up late.”

“What’s this? Are you worried that you’re not gonna wake up on time?”

“They’ll most likely just tell me to help out with making breakfast if that happens. Some of those guys are totally hopeless when it comes to the kitchen.”

Taeil’s smile is wide when Taeyong peers up at him. “You like cooking for others, though. You get all happy when someone says your dishes taste good.”

“Mmm,” the praise makes him giddy inside. He buries his nose into the crook of Taeil’s neck. He smells of his favorite floral body wash. “Probably.”

“Hey, I complimented you just now. Are you gonna make pancakes for me tomorrow morning?”

Taeyong nips playfully at his jaw. He tastes sweet. “I might.”

"All these ambiguous answers," Taeil teases. "Is there even anything that you're sure of?"

"There are two things that I’m sure of." By the way that Taeyong sits up to meet his eyes, Taeil giggles, already knowing what he’s about to say.

"The first is that I love you, and the second is that I want to spend the rest of our days together."

"What a coincidence," Taeil inches closer to him. He looks like a dream. "Because I want those too."

Taeyong pulls Taeil in for a tender embrace. Right now, he's holding the entire universe in his arms.

And he's never letting go.

**Author's Note:**

> (fun fact: nct rly has a stylist named kim youngjin who works with other celebrities, i used his name to make it more realistic lol)
> 
> i have no idea how this ended up as 10k+ words...  
> this is my first time writing nct but please kudos or comment if you'd like to encourage me to write more! 💕
> 
> [fic visuals](https://twitter.com/ahwaeee/status/1223891275792830464)


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